I could tell you about a place. A place that is as good as any fantasy you conjured up as a child while listening to fairy tales about magical places. A place that elicits screeches of joy from people more versed than most in the beauty of places. A place with water spewing from rocks, a giant river in the depths of a dry, arid void on the map, and swimming holes that make you think they are fake due to their perfection. A place that if I did tell you, you probably wouldn’t believe me.
And truth be told, I’m not really sure it exists.
Much like the images that bounced around in your head as a child, this place is surrounded by motes, fiery volcanos, and dragons. Like all mythical places, this one has to be protected by death, despair, Homeric efforts, and all other sorts of barriers. Filters to keep out those who aren’t committed, who aren’t willing to make the sacrifices, who aren’t worthy of this place.
What if I told you that this place was Heaven? And that the biggest thing that I learned by plumbing its depths was that heaven and hell are not only real but are the same place. That Dante’s description was more or less accurate with the exception that Inferno and Paradiso were not separate circles but that the first was a testing ground to get to the latter. Hell is simply the necessary filter to make sure the sinful masses stay out of heaven.
Tribulations
What I am suggesting is to find out if heaven does exist you must drop into the depths of hell.
And dropping is something that we did plenty of on Day 1. In fact, it’s pretty much all we did on Day 1 with the small exception of a steep up from the parking lot. The trail plummetted off the rim with aggressively carved switchbacks. The narrow singletrack was littered with small rocks so every step was an adventure in faith. With 45+ pounds of gear on our backs, we hoped that each step would grab, each footprint would have the necessary traction to keep us, and our loads, from slipping and plunging down the side of the cliff. This is a place where forward progress is more accurately described in time moving than in miles. There is no quick way, you have to take each carefully placed footstep seriously and consciously.
And this is just the first ring.
After the initial drop from the rim, we level off on the flat, sandstone playground known as the esplanade. I might have a fetish for this place. Stretching as far as the eye can see in every direction and sitting perfectly below the rim and above yet another drop, my mind can’t help but think of the possibilities, the places, adventures and stuff that exists on this capstone. Such thoughts are bouncing all through the corridors of my empty head as we make our way around the edge to the next drop.
We haven’t gone too far, but as mentioned, this place takes time. We stop for a snack and water break. I drop my pack to snag a bottle only to notice that there is only one. Hmm, lack of water that will make this more interesting.
Our designated course continues down. Using a crack in the sandstone, the trail continues the downward trajectory over switchbacks carved into the boulder strewn sidehill. We are no longer walking on marbles. We don’t know it yet, but walking on boulders is going to be a thing. The group navigates the switchbacks and our progress is halted by the punctuating squeals of Heather as she sees and photographs the flowers.
The downward spiral into the depths of the earth is once again slowed by the next ring, a large valley sitting on top of the next cliff band we have to descend. It’s hot, but we know water is on the other side of a small climb on the far end of the valley.
My legs are tired. There is a point in long, weighted descents when your legs don’t feel tired in the burning sensation type of tired, but rather a more Gumbo, I’m really just falling forward type of a way. I’ve reached that and we still have plenty of down to negotiate. Luckily, as these things tend to go, the pain is compensated by the vistas and thoughts of what is to come. After all, we are dropping through hell to get to heaven.
Our downward spiral is interrupted by a comma protruding directly from the cliff. Water gushing out and cascading downward. Down toward the place we will finally rest. The going has been dry. I’ve borrowed water already and the sight of water in the desert hell is always a welcome sight. We enjoy the vistas and moments of reprieve as the trees provide shelter from the sun and the water gives us shelter from our thirst and the heat. For the next few days, water is secure, but we still take the time to revel in its abundance. It’s nearly impossible to not take photos.
The relief of knowing we are close to the bottom is tempered by the fact that we are not at the bottom. Down we must proceed.
The trail continues benched along the edge of the canyon carved by the water gushing from the cliff. Benched just above the precipice. Each step has it’s consequences and each step is carefully metered.
It’s mid-afternoon and the sun is blazing. As we descend into the canyon, the foliage increases providing shade. Slowly, the benched trail and river close in to be on the same topo line. And then it’s a quick walk to camp.
While most of us had hung out at the falls pretending we were already there, the Lickers had headed down and secured us a spot next to the creek with easy access. I drop my pack and find my way to a rock at the edge of the water and dip in. The cold shocks my system but the heat that it is curing keeps me in. The clear water flowing over my body washing away the dust of the hellacious descent we have just endured. In the moment, the water, the plants, the company and the towering canyon walls are everything I could ask for. Quite possibly, the closest I’ll be to heaven.
The thing about Heaven is that if it were easy to find, or easy to get to, everyone would be there rendering it less heavenly. This leads us to the hundreds of lost souls attempting to find it. If you decide to try, your success or failure will determine whether you are a lost soul or if you are one of the few, blessed, worthy individuals that enter its ecstasy and are able to say that it does exist.
Lost Souls
Of course, one day of hiking does not get one to Heaven. It takes at least 2.5.
Our day started the way most do, coffee. We broke down our camp and readied ourselves for forward progress. The Lickers had opted to not carry 15+ pounds of white water gear so they would be staying. We said our goodbyes and headed down stream.
Things were going normally. There were the typical groans and complaints of a day two start. We were admiring the canyon, the foliage and I’m sure the Planner was ticking off some facts about the rocks that were fascinating but I can never remember afterward.
And then abrupt stop.
About 30 yards down trail, there is a dude standing. His shorts are around his ankles as he stands on the trail. We’ve clearly surprised him, but I think we were more surprised at what he was doing. While standing on the trail, not next to the trail, or just off to the side of the trail, but actually on the trail, he was in the process of defecating (for appropriate practices go here). Once he knew we were there, he stands up allowing his shirt to cover most of his personal business and then tells us to wait. He still needs to wipe and it will probably be 15 minutes. Really? He then analyzes his situation and tells us to just pass by if we don’t mind. Not wanting to sit around and wait, we opt for a quick pass and continue on our way perplexed and amazed at what just happened.
Our path continues down canyon. As it narrows and the creek becomes swifter, we are forced up onto the bench above us. Scrambling up through a rock-strewn sidehill, we find a narrow trail on a bench that we hope will take us around and down to the river. There is exposure and the nagging possibility that this trail might not take us where we want to go. It does and we soon find ourselves descending a steep, loose, rocky, scratched in trail back to the confluence of the creek and the river. We are all carrying 45ish pound packs. Dressed minimally for the heat, we are wearing shorts and sun shirts, some sort of hat, Cami is carrying her paddle as it is a two-piece and the bushes have made it impossible to leave on her pack.
And we are all in sandals.
At the bottom of the sketchy trail we just descended, is a woman. When she sees us she immediately rises from whatever the hell she was doing with her pack and approaches. She is wearing a big hat, long-sleeved shirt, green, ranger-style pants and boots. Big boots. Boots that start where most boots do but don’t end where you would expect. No, they continue up. The leather wrapped and laced to her legs doesn’t end until it hits the knee. Under these boots, and over the pants, are thick, wool socks. These boots are also ranger-styled, but they are higher than any ranger boot I have ever seen. They are so tall, they are the first thing I notice and almost the only thing I can recall about her.
She approaches and cordially greats us. We stop. The four of us standing facing her in our minimal clothing and sandal clad feet carrying what is clearly a pack full of boating gear.
She asks us about the packrafts and where we are headed. And the reason for her glee in seeing us, a beta request for what we just came down.
“How sketchy is the trail?” She asked.
I believe it was John who replied, “It’s not bad at all. A little loose and steep, but not too sketchy.”
“Oh, good.” She said. “I had read it was pretty bad and I was worried about hiking it solo.”
As we stood there, conversing with her, I couldn’t help but think that her idea of sketchy may be a bit different than ours. We clearly had conflicting ideas on appropriate apparel and footwear for navigating what is often considered treacherous terrain. She came prepared for battle. Shield and sword in hand to defend herself against nature and hopefully emerge on the other side unscathed and victorious. We were here to experience, to feel, to pass through unseen. We are not concerned about the marks that our surroundings may leave on us, but rather the marks that we will leave on our surroundings. As we stand there, it is clear. If she finds what she is looking for and we do not, we will be the lost souls, but if she does not, well, I think you get it.
Our exchange is cordial and pleasant and then we part ways heading each in our own direction looking for whatever it is that we can find.
Having reached the river, it was time to transition. We ate lunch, blew up the boats and began the next section of our journey.
A few miles down river, we stopped to see what it was that was at a side canyon. After some exploration, we return to the river to continue our journey. As we are readying ourselves to put back on, a sound that is so common in our daily lives but caught us off guard is heard upstream. The sound of a motor is echoing off the canyon walls and soon we see an aluminum boat driven by what looks like a ranger headed our way. For reasons I won’t go into, we weren’t super stoked to be seeing a ranger and the group got a little tense.
He pulls up and shuts of his outboard motor, cordially greats us and asks where we are headed. We reply and he nods in approval saying it’s beautiful and we will enjoy it. He then asks if we have seen anyone else in a boat similar to his. We reply in the negative. He’s a bit perplexed as he isn’t entirely sure how he would have passed his coworkers. We then ask what he is doing and find out he is not a ranger but rather a biologist with the Arizona Fish and Wildlife. They are out doing a fish survey and he hasn’t slept in over 24 hours as the survey includes working through the night.
We finish readying our boats and put on. As we float away, we see his coworker pull up. I can’t help but wonder if he is enjoying his time in this amazing place. On the surface, his job couldn’t be any better. He would be in this amazing terrain for several weeks, studying and observing what one would assume is his passion, but at the same time, he was stuck in this place. He wasn’t getting much sleep. He was confined to a boat with a motor with tasks that were to be completed. There didn’t seem to be much time to wander or wonder or to just sit and contemplate his surroundings. Maybe that wasn’t why he was there. Maybe he had found his heaven and things couldn’t get much better.
Or to use Shelby’s words, it felt very much like he was stuck in the parking lot of Disney Land and couldn’t go in.
Down the Hades – Stoked and Terrified
No trip into the other world would be complete without having to navigate the Hades.
Dante’s journey into Hell consists of different rings. Having been raised in the Mormon church, the Heaven I grew up with is very much the same. There is an outer ring that most people will be allowed to experience. A middle ring for those just shy of exaltation and of course, the final ring where true Heaven is. Our journey down river would be taking us through those rings.
The Telestial
Transitioning from bipedal to floating is always a joyful experience. You go from carrying weight that has no value for where you are to converting that weight into a super useful tool that will now make your life so easy. Packrafting is the only way I’ve found that allows you to coast after a hike.
The river is big, loud, cold and the most beautiful shade of green. It was heavenly and the transition to floating meant we had left the realms of hell. The river was the outer reaches of our destination and our portal through the varying rings of heaven. Considering the rings as filters, the river was the last piece to finding the paradise we were searching.
As I mentioned above, we put on. Our time on the river didn’t consist of too many miles, but we had plenty of time to do it. We were not rushed, taking our time on the flat water, exploring the places it could take us to and even spending a night in the middle because we could.
I’m not a man of very many talents. One of the few things I am good at is swimming rapids. I have a very strong knack of falling out of my boat at the very sight of white water. I also absolutely love paddling. It’s a strange juxtaposition in my brain. Knowing we would have a solid day and maybe a half of being on this river had me both stoked and terrified. I had watched videos, knew the beta, mapped out the location and had the ability to portage anything I felt uncomfortable with and yet, my brain couldn’t leave it alone.
For those of you who have never been flipped by the power of a river, it’s akin to wrecking on your bike. One moment you’re fine, the next you’re out of control. Think flying down a beautiful piece of singletrack and hitting a wheel trap. Suddenly, you’re flying over the bars and the only thing you can do is wait to hit the ground and asses the damage. It’s like that, but you are being pummeled by a force that will make you question survival and it can last for seconds, like an OTB, or it can go for minutes. It all depends on where you are and how long the rapid is. Once you are in, you are 100% at the mercy of the river.
We paddle through a coupe of riffles and then hit what we think is 135 mile rapid. I take a cautious line cleaning the meat of the waves but end up too far outside of the current and hit the eddy fence. It grabs the outer side of my boat and I am in the water. It’s a simple flip and emerge with my paddle in one hand and boat in the other. The rapid ends and I get back in my boat that is full of water. Paddling to shore, I am super stoked I carried my dry suit as I am now not freezing. I dump out my boat and get back in. Come to find out, it was a no name rapid. I same because that’s what I do.
The giant green road we are on continues pulling us downward and we quickly come to our first spot of exploration.
The Hades has brought us to a place where water is emerging from above, a 200 foot-ish waterfall is plummeting from a corkscrew canyon above.
We de-dry suit and secure our boats. Grabbing a little bit of water, we head up. The canyon is the entry point into the middle ring of heaven, the Terrestrial for those of Mormon ancestry. The river has brought us here, but there is still a gate that must be opened. We climb up a steep, loose trail that stacks us on a narrow trail. The walls of the canyon on our left we use as our guide. The wall to our right plunges hundreds of feet into a slot canyon that you do not enter with wishes of exiting.
Being quite versed in these quests for heaven, the exposure no longer feels like much of a thing. We make our way taking pictures, videos and giggle at where we are. The narrow trail eventually pops out at an opening in the canyon. There are small drops in the creek before a very large drop into the slot canyon. The second drop affords us a spectacular shower in cool water. After soaking and exploring, we sit on rocky slabs to dry off and soak in the sun that is now a warm friend above us.
There are others. Based on their behavior, it appears that they have found their heaven. Lounging, basking, conversing, being in their space. This is their destination and they are doing their best to absorb as much of it as possible. On the other hand, we see this place for what it is, a temporary relief toward our destination. A beautiful piece of heaven that we revel in, but that is not quite what we came for.
We reverse our journey to our boats, traversing the exposed trail and down the sketchy trail to the river. Delighted in ourselves and our forward progress, we dawn our dry suits and push off headed farther in.
Intermission comes in form of a big sandy beach tucked on the left side of the river. The day has been eventful. It has been full, but our stomachs are not. We ready camp and eat the meager rations tucked in our packs.
And then we sit and absorb everything that is around us. The river flows. The birds soar. The walls echo. The sun sets over those walls and the cool of the evening begins to set in. With the fading light comes drowsiness and then sleep. We retire to our spots, no one brought actual shelter, but we’ve delineated our locations with tarps, ground cloths and sleeping pads. I pass out only to have my eyes pop open. The fear of the river sits in my brain fermenting thoughts, the push of the river, the pull of the excitement, the questions, the unknowns. Anxiety leaves me stuck somewhere in a constant vacillation between stoked and terrified.
The morning arrives and we reverse the actions of building camp. It’s early when we push out on our boats. John asks if I would like some instructions. Unlike myself, he has spent a lot of time on rivers and I believe, beside being a guide, has also been an instructor. I’m stoked for some pointers and he shows me how to eddy in and out. Something that should have been learned the moment I put on a river, but living in the middle of a desert and mostly paddling rivers that are so weak you can get away with little skill, it is something that I never learned. It quickly changes how I perceive the current and interact with it.
My anxiety gets the better of me at our first rapids and the rest of the crew paddles a clean run down a beautiful green tongue and through a set of waves that leaves them all giggling. I portage and immediately regret it, but it’s where I am. There are more riffles and a few more rapids. Attempting to apply what John has shown me, I attack the waves and soon am giggling like I used to the fun of rafting has replaced my fear. The stoke has begun to dispel the terror.
And then, much quicker than any of us desired, the portal to our exit arrives. We aren’t sure if the river, the Hades, is our Heaven or just a journey through to something better. The canyon ahead of us is long and we have hopes that somewhere in its depths we will found treasures that will reward us well beyond the pains of our efforts.
We transition back to bipedal mode. The 15 pounds of white water gear once again becoming just a weight in our packs. There is consensus that it was worth it, but we still have to drag that weight back out for it to be securely known.
There’s fish. Weird fish. Flannel mouth suckers to be exact. They turn the small stream into a flurry of motion and splashing. Salmon of the desert? Quite possibly. We walk along the bank and admire, laugh and video their antics. They rush away from us and congregate in the deeper pools. The warmer water coming in is a haven for them. The Colorado is too cold thanks to the dam and they are not relinquished to the smaller tributaries and their confluences.
And then there it is. Right in front of us. Perfection.
Our portal has many sidetracks. We wander off our path to see springs, to experience small alcoves, places of beauty tucked neatly in the Terrestrial place we are traversing. The going is slow. The terrain is relatively flat but the canyon is choked with house-sized boulders. Around those huge rocks are countless others of every size. We are walking through a boulder-strewn river bed with the river being replaced by a small, peaceful creek.
The day continues and we make our way up canyon. Our efforts begin to feel strained making us question whether we are headed back into the outer rings or inward toward our end goal. We find camp on a limestone ledge. The creek cuts a channel below us and their is a seep close by. Our stoke is high. We’ve snuck in a float on the Hades. We’ve seen places that drew out exclamations of, “Are you serious?” and we still have two days to go.
We chill and sleep.
Water is not secure on our next day. We will have water up canyon, but not quite to where we would like to camp. We have choices. We can carry a bunch for a dry camp or push it and make our way to a spring just below our climb out. Not being a fan of dry camps, but quite admiring long days with hard pushes, I encourage the latter. The group concedes and we know we have a jaunt in front of us. We get an early start enjoying the shade. Our muscles are tired, our feet are trashed and our packs are heavy ladened.
And then there it is. Right in front of us. Perfect.
A couple hours of hiking past countless swimming holes and we happen on to the most perfect place I’ve ever experienced. Two waterfalls, deep green pool underneath, plenty of rocks for jumping. We all stand in awe. There’s a few moments of silence as we try to process what we just happened upon. We had a pretty good idea of most of the stuff we’d seen. The maps showed the places. Pictures abound. But this. This was not on our radar. It sat in perfection as if conjured by our efforts. A reward for the miles, the heat, the journey. In the middle of nowhere, the swimming hole of fairy tales.
After our moment of silence trying to process what is in front of us, someone asks if we are going to swim. There’s a fairly quick consensus that if it was warmer we would all be jumping in without asking. Looking back. I think there was a reverence in the group. We may not have fully comprehended it at the time, but knew we had found it. Found heaven tucked within the folds of the earth deep down a canyon where those who venture probably won’t return even if this hole made us all commit to returning soon.
We snap photos. Giggle and feel alive. And then we continue as we all know that we are not ready to reside in the Celestial quite yet. There are more places to go, more things to do. So we keep walking.
Just as one does not just pop into Heaven, getting out is just as challenging.
As we leave the Celestial behind us, we slowly transcend through the Terrestrial. It’s beauty and glory slowly fading into Telestial and then we are back in Hell. Walking through what seems like a never ending canyon that is paved with rocks meant to stop us. To filter us out and keep us from escaping. The temperature rises. The water disappears. The pockets of the Terrestrial give way to small joys of light, canyon walls and short stretches of flat.
After a full day of moving, we finally reach the bottom of the stairs out. There is a spring with enough water for us to filter, resupply and camp. We throw out our bed rolls on uneven sandstone just happy to not be in the sun and to be resting. After fitful sleep, we arise, break camp and begin the final push back to what we call normal. There are lots of things bouncing around in our heads, the least of which is probably the ice chest full of beer at the car. With our packs slightly lighter due to the elimination of rations, we begin the slog to the top.
I reach the truck, find the Planner’s stashed keys, open the back and find my chair and beer. I roll things out stripping off my sun shirt letting the morning sun warm my skin. The beer is still cold and it tastes amazing as it hits my lips. I feel a bit lost despite knowing where I am and how I got there, I have a feeling of being wayward. The past several days are registered in my head and recorded in my journal, but it all feels more like a fairy tale than a real place. Even the soreness in my feet and legs doesn’t place it firmly in reality.
We passed through Hell and found various levels of Heaven. As I sit drinking and resting, I can’t help but think that too many people assume that next to the Stairway to Heaven there will be an escalator. I’m pretty sure there won’t be and the stairway will be tattered, almost non-existent and hidden by miles and miles of trudging through hell just to walk past it because it’s overgrown with cactus.
Heaven or Hell? Same fucking place!
P. L. and R.
